Francis Ledwidge Museum

Francis Ledwidge Museum The Francis Ledwidge Museum is the cottage birthplace of World War I poet, Francis Ledwidge. Dr Benedict Kiely opened it as a museum in June 1982.

The museum is the cottage birthplace of World War I poet, Francis Ledwidge. It is a perfect example of a 19th century farm labourer's cottage and was purchased and restored by the Francis Ledwidge Museum Committee in 1981. It houses the poet's works and artefacts from World War I, alongside memorabilia of the period. Its millennium exhibition portrays the poet's life in picture and text from his

birth in the cottage to his death at the third battle of Ypres, Belgium, in July 1917. The museum is run by a small but dedicated group of Ledwidge enthusiasts who take pride in the writing of the poet and the restoration and upkeep of his birthplace. The committee's mission is:
To promote an appreciation for the writings and poetry of Francis Ledwidge to as wide an audience as possible and to protect the name, birthplace and memory of Ledwidge for future generations. The committee hopes that the continuous promotion of the writings of Ledwidge to as wide an audience as possible will:
Improve the overall standing of Ledwidge as a poet, locally, nationally and internationally. To do this we would welcome as many people as possible to get involved. We are always seeking to recruit new committee members and the more diverse the skills, backgrounds and opinions are the better. To become a committee member, phone or e-mail the musum or to register as a Friend of Ledwidge visit http://www.francisledwidge.com/membership-subscription.php

We were delighted to welcome Rosie Maye The Insomniac Gardener to the museum on Monday with 4 horticultural students fro...
26/05/2026

We were delighted to welcome Rosie Maye The Insomniac Gardener to the museum on Monday with 4 horticultural students from Athboy Alpha Learning Centre. The students have been doing work experience with Rosie in her garden at Mullaghdillon. She brought them along to the museum garden to help out with the cleaning and tidying up of the garden for the Summer Season. Carmel, Celine, Ruth and Gary together with Rosie and some committee members did an amazing job and worked tirelessly until lunchtime. We give a big thanks to them for their hard work.

Summer at HomeSwath by swath the fallen meadowWhitens by the river brink,And the wind comes in a shadowWhere the swallow...
23/05/2026

Summer at Home

Swath by swath the fallen meadow
Whitens by the river brink,
And the wind comes in a shadow
Where the swallows dip to drink.
Little waves put out their white tongues
Just beyond the mossy weir,
Where the jewelled trout are leaping
And the heron flings his spear.

Water lilies, like the golden
Lamps of old Arabian nights,
Morn sets swinging for the olden
And mysterious river rites,
For pan still has quiet worship
When the lonely evening dreams
With the white flocks in the valleys
And the dusk about the streams.

Summer now is changing fashion,
Mark the white robes, how she dares.
I, who know her every passion,
Tell her age by what she wears.
There beside her I'd be singing
To her waywardness of mind.
I could find the truth of Beauty
In the fields I left behind.

DawnQuiet miles of golden sky,And in my heart a sudden flower.I want to clap my hands and cryFor Beauty in her secret bo...
22/05/2026

Dawn

Quiet miles of golden sky,
And in my heart a sudden flower.
I want to clap my hands and cry
For Beauty in her secret bower.

Quiet golden miles of dawn—
Smiling all the East along;
And in my heart nigh fully blown,
A little rose-bud of a song.

HomeA burst of sudden wings at dawn,Faint voices in a dreamy noon,Evenings of mist and murmurings,And nights with rainbo...
20/05/2026

Home

A burst of sudden wings at dawn,
Faint voices in a dreamy noon,
Evenings of mist and murmurings,
And nights with rainbows of the moon.

And through these things a wood-way dim,
And waters dim, and slow sheep seen
On uphill paths that wind away
Through summer sounds and harvest green.

This is a song a robin sang
This morning on a broken tree,
It was about the little fields
That call across the world to me.

Evening in MayThere is nought tragic here, tho' night upliftsA narrow curtain where the footlights burned,But one long a...
16/05/2026

Evening in May

There is nought tragic here, tho' night uplifts
A narrow curtain where the footlights burned,
But one long act where Love each heart sifts
And blushes in the dark, but has not spurned
The strong resolve of noon. The maiden's head
Is brown upon the shoulder of her youth,
Hearts are exchanged, long pent up words are said,
Blushes burn out at the long tale of truth.

The Blackbird blows his yellow flute so strong,
And rolls away the notes in careless glee,
It breaks the rhythm of the thrushes' song,
And puts red shame upon his rivalry.
The yellowhammers on the roof tiles beat
Sweet little dulcimers to broken time,
And here the robin with heart replete
Has all in one short plagiariséd rhyme.

From the The Lanawn SheeFrom hill to hill, from land to land,Her lovely hand is beckoning for me,I follow on through...
16/05/2026

From the The Lanawn Shee

From hill to hill, from land to land,
Her lovely hand is beckoning for me,
I follow on through dangerous zones,
Cross dead men's bones and oceans stormy.

Some day I know she'll wait at last
And lock me fast in white embraces,
And down mysterious ways of love
We two shall move to fairy places.
-
Enjoy your weekend and appreciate your surroundings today.

May MorningYoung May came peeping o'er the mountAnd dressed herself before the font.The glow-worm snuffed his candle bri...
14/05/2026

May Morning

Young May came peeping o'er the mount
And dressed herself before the font.
The glow-worm snuffed his candle bright.
The brooklet tumbled into light.
The skylark sang into the blue.
The baby corn sprang into view.
The merle piped beside the rill.
The mavis answered from the hill
The daisy crowned each grassy bleb.
The spider crossed his dewy web.
The wood-pecker the hazel tapped
And straight its little leaves unwrapped.
The snipe forsook his marshy bed.
The ceannabawn raised up its head
And still the harper played away
The march of morning into day.

The PlaceBlossoms as old as May I scatter here,And a blue wave I lifted from the stream.It shall not know when winter da...
08/05/2026

The Place

Blossoms as old as May I scatter here,
And a blue wave I lifted from the stream.
It shall not know when winter days are drear
Or March is hoarse with blowing. But a-dream
The laurel boughs shall hold a canopy
Peacefully over it the winter long,
Till all the birds are back from oversea,
And April rainbows win a blackbird's song.

And when the war is over I shall take
My lute a-down to it and sing again
Songs of the whispering things amongst the brake,
And those I love shall know them by their strain.
Their airs shall be the blackbird's twilight song,
Their words shall be all flowers with fresh dews hoar.—
But it is lonely now in winter long,
And, God! to hear the blackbird sing once more.

Ceol SidheWhen May is here, and every mornIs dappled with pied bells,And dewdrops glance along the thornAnd wings flash ...
05/05/2026

Ceol Sidhe

When May is here, and every morn
Is dappled with pied bells,
And dewdrops glance along the thorn
And wings flash in the dells,
I take my pipe and play a tune
Of dreams, a whispered melody,
For feet that dance beneath the moon
In fairy jollity.

And when the pastoral hills are grey
And the dim stars are spread,
A scamper fills the grass like play
Of feet where fairies tread.
And many a little whispering thing
Is calling to the Shee.
The dewy bells of evening ring,
And all is melody.

Today marks the start of May and the weather has been warm and . We hope you are enjoying the day and basking in the ....
01/05/2026

Today marks the start of May and the weather has been warm and . We hope you are enjoying the day and basking in the .
-

May

She leans across an orchard gate somewhere,
Bending from out the shadows to the light,
A dappled spray of blossom in her hair
Studded with dew-drops lovely from the night
She smiles to think how many hearts she'll smite
With beauty ere her robes fade from the lawn.
She hears the robin's cymbals with delight,
The skylark in the rosebush of the dawn.

For her the cowslip rings its yellow bell,
For her the violets watch with wide blue eyes.
The wandering cuckoo doth its clear name tell
Thro' the white mist of blossoms where she lies
Painting a sunset for the western skies.
You'd know her by her smile and by her tear
And by the way the swift and martin flies,
Where she is south of these wild days and drear.

At a Poet's GraveWhen I leave down this pipe my friendAnd sleep with flowers I loved, apart,My songs shall rise in wildi...
23/04/2026

At a Poet's Grave

When I leave down this pipe my friend
And sleep with flowers I loved, apart,
My songs shall rise in wilding things
Whose roots are in my heart.

And here where that sweet poet sleeps
I hear the songs he left unsung,
When winds are fluttering the flowers
And summer-bells are rung.

Address

Janeville
Slane
C15DK82

Opening Hours

Tuesday 11am - 4pm
Wednesday 11am - 4pm
Thursday 11am - 4pm
Friday 11am - 4pm
Saturday 11am - 4pm

Telephone

+353419824544

Website

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